


Biting The Apple

by KitschyKit



Series: New Representatives [2]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Adult Adam Young (Good Omens), Angst and Humor, Crisis of Faith, Developing Relationship, Godparents Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Ineffable Bureaucracy (Good Omens), Multi, Nonbinary Beelzebub (Good Omens), Post-Canon, South Downs Cottage (Good Omens), Suggestive Themes, The Ineffable Plan (Good Omens), Unplanned Pregnancy, unplanned but not unwanted further details in notes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-24
Updated: 2019-07-24
Packaged: 2020-07-12 11:47:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,203
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19945663
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KitschyKit/pseuds/KitschyKit
Summary: God wants new representatives on Earth, and Gabriel and Beelzebub are encouraged by their peers to set an example. They find solidarity in each other, question what they thought they knew about Earth, and make quite a mess of things while they’re at it.Sequel to The Capacity For Change.





	Biting The Apple

**Author's Note:**

> Because of all your wonderful comments and support of The Capacity For Change, I bring you a Beelzebub-and-Gabriel centered story with 2x the existential crisis, confusing dialogue and semi-religious circle talk because I don’t know what I’m doing but I’m trying my best. 
> 
> This is probably a little ooc, mostly because I don’t have the best handle on their characters yet. Sorry. 
> 
> Also, while this is technically something that ends in a kidfic, there is only implied sexual content, and no description of pregnancy or childbirth because I’m Not About That personally. Additionally, they may have not intentionally wanted a child, but as I clarified in the fic, the child is never actually Unwanted. They’re an odd family, but the love is there. 
> 
> I'm on tumblr- feel free to send me asks about these nerds!

They met in an empty office building in Perth.

There had been “unofficial” channels between Upstairs and Downstairs, but in the days following the Armageddidn’t, an “official” channel was opened. 

First, it was a way to establish a plan to deal with the Traitors, and then when that didn’t work, a way to deal with the fallout from the failure of said plan. 

Gabriel would write notes that he would then burn in a candle on his desk, and they would arrive on Beelzebub's desk, precisely 4 inches to the right of whatever paperwork they were working on at the time. Beelzebub would write their notes and then fling them upwards, where they would reappear randomly in his office; sometimes on his desk, or on the floor, or on one unfortunate occasion, in his decorative fish tank. 

It was an official channel; it wasn’t a secret. But they also weren’t monitored because, well… they were the bosses. They were the epitome of their respective sides: no one would dare question them or what they were saying. 

So they kept doing it. Mostly to complain. Other times to shuffle paperwork back and forth to establish an armistice. 

Gabriel could appreciate that if anything, Beelzebub was diligent with their paperwork. Beelzebub took some enjoyment out of Gabriel’s letters of complaint, knowing they were coming from a place of wrath. 

It was fine, until it wasn’t.

Above and Below received the same message at the same time. It was a strike to the soul, a paper scroll, a letter from a Being who had spent a long time being completely and maddeningly silent. 

They had a meeting about it. 

“This is important to Her,” Gabriel said. “She’s letting us decide who to send, so it shows that She still has trust in us, and that is a Blessing.” 

“We need someone who we can trust as well,” Uriel said. “It has to be of a higher rank, perhaps even one of us.” 

“Of course,” agreed Sandalphon. “If we have an agent that is devoted above all else, our armies will have confidence in us above all else.” 

“Does that mean you volunteer?” Michael asked. Michael was too important to be considered, so they didn’t. 

“I was actually going to suggest Gabriel.” He smiled, and it was with admiration. “You’re the best of us.” 

Uriel made a noise of approval. “It would make sense, you’re the face of Her Holiness.” 

“It would make for great PR,” Michael said simply.

“Right,” Gabriel said, suddenly feeling very small. “Right. It would be an honor, of course.” 

It was a choice that didn’t feel very much like a choice at all. 

He got back to his office, and he stared at the candle on his desk for a long time. It never dripped any wax, immutable in time. He stared at the fish tank, and then looked at the wide windows of Heaven. 

He messaged Beelzebub, who got back to him almost immediately. 

_I know. We need to talk._

Gabriel agreed. But he felt… defensive. Less in control. He brought a vial of holy water with him.

They met in an empty office building in Perth, and the weight of the vial sat in his pocket like an uncomfortable weight on his chest, because he immediately knew he didn’t need it. 

Beelzebub was distressed, pacing bile-black steps into the carpet, so painfully relieved to see him he sent the water back to his office just to make the uncomfortable feeling in his chest go away, because he _didn’t_ feel guilty, he _couldn’t._

_“Finally,”_ they stressed. “Someone who seezz reason. This is _inzzane.”_

“I’m not terribly surprised that She wants agents back on Earth,” he said, somewhat confused. 

“But they want _me,”_ Beelzebub practically vibrated with anger, flies forming dark cloud around them. “For bloody _morale_ reasonzz. They can’t do thizz, they need me in the office and—who are you sending?” 

“Me,” Gabriel said, feeling quite hollow all of a sudden. “As a reward for my dedicated service.” A beat. “And also for morale.” 

“But— but- they _need_ you.” 

“Apparently not,” he said. 

Beelzebub screwed their eyes up tight, and swore quite vividly. “Oh this is all _their_ fault. Them and their bloody fucking traitorouzzz ineffability, and we have to pay the price for doing our jobzz.” 

“To be honest,” Gabriel said, and he sounded quite tired all of a sudden. “That just sounds like bureaucracy.” [1]

He stood near the windows, staring out into the grey parking lot of the office building. Beelzebub eventually stopped pacing to join him, equally and uneasily pensive. 

“At least we won’t mezz it up,” Beelzebub said after a while. “We know exactly what sides we’re supposed to be on.” 

Gabriel nodded. “We just...have to do our assignments. We should meet back here with the old reports, look them over together.” 

“Start on an even playing field?” They asked, sounding amused. “How Good of you.”

“It’s only fair,” Gabriel said. “To give you a fighting chance, since you know we will win in the end.”

It sounded rehearsed, but also like an inside joke. 

Beelzebub scoffed, “Believe what you want, it won’t help. But, I will meet you back here with Crowley’zz file tomorrow. Don’t be late.” 

“I’m an Archangel, I’m always right on time.” He said, vaguely insulted. 

The Price of Hell disappeared, and Gabriel stood behind the glass, looking out into the world, and felt somewhat better that out of everyone he would have to be rivals with, he was glad it was them.

_._

Heaven and Hell spent the next 9 years preparing for the adjustment. 9 years wasn’t very long in the grand scheme of things, and it was spent dividing tasks, rearranging old hierarchies, and researching as much as possible for the new assignment. They tried to poke holes in old reports to try and find missteps and see where Crowley and Aziraphale went wrong. 

Predictably, their official reports were strictly and frustratingly professional, especially when everyone now knew very openly that the reality was anything but. 

Gabriel was in a detached sort of haze regarding his reassignment, just putting his head down and working through it— all the way up until he was standing in a penthouse in New York that would serve as his home base, and he sat deathly still in a stiff armchair as his entire reality came crashing down around him. 

He stared out the glass walls, the ones he specifically got because they reminded him of his old office, and he felt very much like the world was moving too fast. 

His corporal form was shaking. 

He walked over to his new, earthly desk, and it took him three tries to snap his fingers in order to light the candle. 

It was sunset, and they met on a park bench in Toronto. [2]

They didn’t even acknowledge each other at first, only staring off into the middle distance. 

“How are you adjusting?” He asked eventually. 

“I’m not.” 

“Oh,” he replied, “Me neither.” 

“We’re enemies again from here on out, you do realizze right?” 

“We always have been enemies,” he responded. “We just had a common goal.” 

Beelzebub hesitated, but then: “We still don’t know what went wrong. With the other two.” 

“They got too attached to earth,” Gabriel said. “That much is obvious.” 

“And also to each other.” Beelzebub muttered. “They’re in _love.”_

The word left an ashy taste in Gabriel’s mouth, and he tried to work around it, voicing concerns he wasn’t normally allowed to share. “It Just doesn’t make sense. We don’t just _go native,_ it’s not in our nature.” 

“Maybe they were a bad, er- good influence on each other.” 

Gabriel grappled with his answer. “If Aziraphale was truly influenced by the demon, he would’ve fallen. No, it had to be an earthly affliction, like an involuntary disease.” 

Beelzebub glared at him and sat up, a black cloud of flies forming as a result. “Nothing about their choicezzz seemed involuntary. They risked destruction for their cause.” 

“Maybe they- maybe they were always somewhere in the middle. Maybe they were always flawed since the beginning.” 

“That would imply that She isn’t infallible. That she made a mistake.” 

“No. It. Doesn’t.” He gritted through his teeth. “They were just... different.” 

“Yeah but they’re not _special,_ either.” Beelzebub argued. “They’re nobodiezz!” 

“Not anymore,” Gabriel said morosely. “They made themselves important, in a very bad way.” 

Beelzebub chewed that over, flopping back onto the bench. “We could always ask them.” 

Gabriel stared. “What?” 

Beelzebub glared back at being scrutinized. “Ask ‘em what they did wrong. Off the record, what really happened.” 

_This is already dangerously off record._

“We could,” he agreed slowly. “Although I doubt Aziraphale would be willing to discuss anything with me.” 

“Crowley made it clear he would like to be left alone as well.” Beelzebub said. 

“We could… switch?”

“Separately,” Beelzebub droned. “We’d have to approach them when they’re not together.” 

Gabriel raised his eyebrows. “What do you mean? They live apart.” 

Beelzebub lip curled in a snarl. “Not anymore. They’re co-habitating.” 

“An angel and a demon?” Gabriel asked, incredulous. 

“I told you, they’re in _love.”_ Beelzebub said it like a curse. “Shaking up like a couple of _humanzzz.”_

Gabriel pulled up a globe and started to zoom in, as Beelzebub pointed him in the right direction. No one passing by the bench paid them any mind. 

It was a passive monitoring system, and Gabriel stared down at a quiet cottage with white washed paint and dark green shutters and a lush garden and a single light coming from the upstairs window. 

Gabriel was struck by the voyeuristic urge to zoom in further, past the walls, to violate a privacy that they had the _audacity_ to think they earned. That they would be able to escape Heaven and Hell’s grasp after what they did. 

He didn’t, but the urge was there, tight and itchy under his fingers. It made him frown. 

“We'll go there tomorrow morning,” he said. “Watch and wait for the opportunity to get them alone. I’ll talk to Crowley.”

He spun the globe slightly to the left, found a patch of green nearby. “Meet here after?” 

Beelzebub nodded. “Let’zz find out how they fucked up. We can call it… an exit interview.” 

_._

Gabriel came to many conclusions from his talk with Crowley, but he clung to the one that made the most sense to him: She, in her ineffable wisdom, had a flawed angel and demon together on Earth because they had the ability to love it so. 

He did not want to think about personal growth. He was unshakable; a pillar of heaven. It was safer to think that way. 

But, despite himself, he did take the demons advice, while telling himself that he wasn’t actually taking his advice. He was just… surveying. 

He traveled. 

He went to major cities, historical landmarks. And he very determinedly told himself that he wasn’t being challenged: but the logical passage of time didn’t do well on the emotional human body— the last time he was in Jerusalem had been a very long time indeed, and it overwhelmed him. 

He popped back into his office, and laid his head on his desk because it felt like the right thing to do and _oh_ he was running on _feelings_ now wasn’t he? 

Was that a side effect of being corporeal? Of being here long term? Or was he only just now noticing them? 

Six months in, a note fluttered to the floor to his left, and when he picked it up, it just had an address on it. When he arrived, was to an abandoned movie theater in Zurich. 

“You know,” Beelzebub said the moment Gabriel manifested. “I think they fucking faked it.” 

“I’m not following,” Gabriel said, watching Beelzebub slump further down in the aisle seat.

 _“Them,”_ Beelzebub stressed. “Crowley and Azzziraphale,” 

“Why did- what?”

“All of their reports are too- too much! There’zz no way Crowley did everything he said he did.” 

Gabriel was starting to get the picture. “You’re under performing.” 

“Every time I try to do something evil— the humanzz make it ten times worse! All on their own! I’m doing all I can and it’zz not enough!” 

Gabriel looked embarrassed. “Yes, Well. The same is true for me. The lobbyists I influenced are trying to introduce legislation to unionize a major corporation, and I was just trying to get them to raise the minimum wage. I didn’t even think about it.” 

“Crowley was too soft for this,” Beelzebub insisted. “He took credit for executionz, scandalz, genocidez— I can’t even keep up with it all, I can’t be everywhere at once! It's all the humanzz.” 

“They’re creative with their selflessness as well,” Gabriel said. “They’re naturally kind, But I don’t know why.” 

“Fear of Hell obviously,” Beelzebub said proudly, because their reputation was rightly earned. 

“No, it’s not like the old days,” he said, and wilted under their glare. “What I’m saying is, it’s like I’m not even there.”

“Just- look at this,” Beelzebub shoved a report at him. “He made a popular bar misprint advertising for 50 pence shotzz. Sure the resultzz were _bad_ but they weren’t world-changing. All most all of his reportzz are like this, except for a few bigger projectzz and the ones we assigned to him.” 

“I believe you now,” Gabriel said gently, pushing the report back at them. “But do you want to go ask them?” 

Beelzebub thought of Aziraphale and croaked out: “No.”

“Well,” said Gabriel, “there’s one more person we could ask.” 

“No,” said Beelzebub, _“No._ We can’t.” 

“Your head office won’t know will He?” Gabriel asked. “He forfeited rights to the child.” 

“He did,” they admitted. “But I don’t know how much he could help us.” 

“We just need a human-“

“Ish.”

“Perspective,” Gabriel continued. “Maybe we’re just going about this all wrong.” 

“I think I would prefer it if they were just a couple of liarzz,” Beelzebub mumbled. “Rather than be bad at my own fucking job.” 

Gabriel silently agreed. 

_._

Uni housing hadn’t gotten any better in the last ten years, and neither had the flats around them. They were still flimsy, and had no real insulation, and had cheap plastic window sills and mold and pest problems and they could all be described best as “cozy” with an atmosphere that was somehow both plain and reminiscent of a gutted out Cheesecake Factory. 

The Them’s flat was a three bedroom to save money, which they passed off by pretending to be some arrangement of two friends and a couple, and the landlord didn’t look too closely because he didn’t particularly care, as long as he still got paid on time. 

They only took two bedrooms to bunk in anyway because it wasn’t fair if _some_ had to share and some didn’t, and besides the third bedroom was actually more the size of a closet, so they just put a mattress and sheets down and hung their laundry up to dry in there and hoped that whoever was brought home on any particular night didn’t think too hard about the fact that they basically had a sex-and-laundry room combo across from the loo. [3]

Regardless, it was March and they were in the swing of things in their last year, and Brian blearily opened the door in sweatpants to find two stern looking entities on the other side. 

One was tall and broad shouldered, and had the sporty and pretty face of a cheating self-absorbed doctor in any hallmark original movie. The other was shorter, with a thick wool hat and deep set eyes and an expression that made the milk in their fridge instantly curdle. [4]

Brian, who had grown into an empathetic man with a good sense for character, disliked them on sight. He also had a vague feeling that he had met them before. 

“Can I help you?” He asked, because it seemed like the thing to do. 

“Hi,” the tall one said, smiling brightly. [5] “We’re looking for Adam Young, we were told that he lives here.” 

That got Wensleydale’s attention, who had been at the kitchen table with a borderline dangerous amount of coffee, looking over flashcards. 

“Is he in trouble?” Brian asked bluntly as Wensleydale came up behind him to look. 

“No,” the shorter one drawled, attempting to be soothing and intimidating at the same time. “We just need to ask him a few questions.” 

“Who are you with?” Wensleydale asked suspiciously, and he narrowed his eyes, also sensing their familiarity, and did not like any of the feelings he was getting from his memory. 

“The Government,” Gabriel said smoothly, fully expecting to be believed with a small wave of his hand. 

However, these particular humans had become somewhat immune to mind tricks, because of their close proximity to Adam, and the feeling of being manipulated made Wensleydale go cold. 

“What branch?” He asked sharply. 

“What?” Gabriel tilted his head. 

“What branch? Do you have identification? Badge numbers?” 

Pepper, who had been getting ready for the day, heard the sharp tone and walked out to join them by the door. She had a small can of mace tucked up her sleeve. 

She looked them up and down, unimpressed, and clicked her tongue. She’d always had the best memory when it came to faces. 

“They’re like Adam’s uncles, remember?” She said, and watched the two of them tense up, caught. “The only governments they’re from are the ones with superiority complexes and a mob mentality.”

“That’s both of them innit?” Brian muttered as it clicked into place, now openly glowering. 

“And most of ours too,” Wensleydale agreed sourly.

Gabriel glared. “Now listen, you must be reasonable—“ 

“And what if we’re not?” Pepper said. “You can’t make us do anything, and if you didn’t get the message ten years ago then we’ll be _sure_ to give you a reminder.” 

“It’s alright Pep,” Adam said from the hallway. He had been outside walking Dog, and now held him to his chest, sleep deprived and slightly amused. “I don’t think they’re here to start trouble.” 

Gabriel and Beelzebub found themselves on a sagging couch, the Them standing on the other side of the coffee table, with Adam front and center, hands in his pockets in a passive slouch. 

“We are Earth’s new representatives.” Gabriel said outright, as a way to start things off. 

“I know,” Adam said, not unkindly. “Uncle Crowley called me to say that they had been visited by you two over the summer and to be careful.” 

_Uncle Crowley?_ Beelzebub mouthed, a tad horrified. 

“Did they ever mention anything about their old jobs?” Gabriel asked. “Anything about the things they have or haven’t done in history?” 

Adam grinned like he had been expecting the question. “Well... they had an arrangement.” 

“An Arrangement,” Gabriel repeated back. [6]

“Just an arrangement,” Adam said. “Where they would do minor temptations and miracles for each other if needed, and try not to outright sabotage each other.” 

It was Gabriel’s turn to look horrified. “Aziraphale did temptations?” 

“Yes, but he _did_ do all the good things he ever said he did, just not every major good deed ever." 

Beelzebub narrowed their eyes. “And Crowley?”

Wensleydale crossed his arms. “Every time I asked him about something in history he said the humans beat him to it.” [7]

“Humanzz,” Beelzebub said, connecting the dots. “Caused World War Two?” 

“Yep.”

“The Spanish Inquisition?” 

“Mhmm.”

They listed off a few more gruesome events as Adam and Wensleydale kept nodding, and Gabriel felt like his mental image of the Crowley he met started clicking into place. 

Beelzebub scrapped the mental bottom of the barrel of Crowley’s larger misdeeds. “The Crusadezz?”

Gabriel blinked. “I thought that was one of ours, we sent Aziraphale a congratulatory note.” 

“It was neither of yours,” Pepper said. “And it was fucked up anyway.” 

“At least,” Beelzebub said with some difficulty around the anger growing hot in their stomach. “He didn’t lie about the Garden right? I suppozzze Eve bit the apple all by herself.” 

“No that was him,” Adam confirmed. “But it wasn’t particularly demonic either.” 

They stared, horrified. “It wazz the _original sin.”_

“It was free will.” Adam said. “You can read my thesis on it if you want.” 

“What?” 

“Nevermind.” Adam said. [8]

“The thing you need to know about your job,” he continued. “Is that you keep thinking that every act of good or evil was them, but it's actually just people being people.” 

“I’m so glad I didn’t have you in Philosophy,” Pepper said to Adam. “You would’ve been unbearable.” 

“Blame my uncles, they talk circles around each other for _fun.”_

“How _did_ you manage that class without sounding like a fanatic?” Wensleydale asked. 

“Listen,” Beelzebub said firmly. “We’re just— we’re following orderzz and doing what’zz best for our officezz. She _wanted_ us here.” 

“I know why you’re concerned.” Adam said. “But maybe the reason Crowley and Aziraphale didn’t do as much work as you think they did is because they realized the Earth never belonged to Heaven or Hell. Earth has always belonged to Humanity, and nothing they did would ever truly change that.”

“Then why are we here,” Gabriel argued. “Why did She assign us to be here?”

“Maybe because She’s trying to teach you something.” He reasoned. “Maybe She’s trying to get Heaven and Hell to change without ordering you to.” 

“I don’t— I don’t _want_ to change.” Gabriel said, and he was mentally transported back to Crowley’s kitchen. _Who's going to stop you?_

“I already did enough changing,” Beelzebub agreed. “I would rather not do it again. I _like_ being a demon.” 

“It’s safer for everyone involved,” Gabriel said, because he felt like he was barely keeping his head above water. “Heaven doesn’t need to change. By definition it is practically perfect.” 

“No one believes that.” Adam rolled his eyes. “You’re not beyond comprehension, not by me. You’re just scared.” 

“Of course we are,” Beelzebub said. “You can’t just uproot entire departmentzz like that! There’ll be paperwork! At least before, the rebellion was _written,_ now there’zz nothing to go off of!”

“Why else would you be here if she didn’t want to challenge you?” Adam asked. “Having representatives on Earth doesn’t actually help or hinder people’s abilities to be good or bad. You aren’t actually needed. So what now?” 

“I don’t know!” Gabriel said. “But that _cannot_ be the answer, there _has_ to be another reason.” 

“Do you want to know the answer?” Adam asked. 

_No, I’m not ready, I don’t think I’ll ever be ready._ “Of course.” 

“Then bite the Apple, and find out.” Adam said sternly. “But in the meantime we have to go to class.” 

“Speak for yourself,” Brian muttered. “I’m going back to bed.” 

_._

The door closed behind them with a click. 

“What now?” Beelzebub asked. 

“I can’t handle this here. Come with me,” Gabriel said, reaching his hand out. “Please.” 

Beelzebub glared, eyes narrowing, but they took his hand, and they were standing in an aquarium. The dim lighting cast dark shadows on them, the blue of the tank swirling softly as slow waves of multicolored fish passed by. 

“They help me think,” he said, and his voice was tight. “Calm down.” 

Beelzebub didn’t let go of his hand for a reason they couldn’t name. Every instinct said to let go, but they were always defiant of even their own emotions. Especially now. 

“We can’t tell our officezz,” they said. “If it’s true. If we’re here because She wants us to—“ they cut off, struggling with their words. “We can’t tell them why.” 

“There’ll be an uproar,” he agreed. 

“Riotzz,” they corrected. “A Rebellion. Just not the one I wanted.”

“We could always do what they did. Regarding paperwork.” 

Beelzebub turned to him in shock. “Are you suggesting _faking our reports?”_

“It’s for the greater good,” he argued. “If she really wants us to—“ he struggled in the same place, tripping over the word _change,_ replacing it with _grow,_ trying to say _learn_ and then giving up all together. “Our offices would never allow it. We have to do it on our own.” 

“We need a contract,” they said. “If we’re going to make a deal like this.” 

“One that gets misfiled,” he said slowly. 

“Lozzt in the shuffle,” they agreed. 

“An agreement to keep this a secret,” he said. “And to keep up appearances.” 

“So we go back to what we were doing?” They asked. “Even if it doesn’t actually mean anything?”

“Yes, and we... consider our options.” 

“To be honest,” Beelzebub said, “I still don't know what bite the apple meanzz, but I wanted to act like I did.”

“You could always ask the Serpent,” Gabriel said. “He knows.” 

“I’d rather ask you,” they said bluntly. 

“I think it’s...” he hesitated, trying to remember. “He said something about self-awareness.” 

“Well that’zz unhelpful, I already know who I am.” 

“I thought I did too,” Gabriel said. “But now I’m not so sure.” 

“You’re an Archangel.” They said dryly. 

“Is that _it_ though,” he asked and it was desperate now. _Who’s going to stop you?_ “Or is it a job description?” 

Beelzebub stared at him. 

He looked them in the eyes, trying to get them to understand. “Is the Prince of Hell your identity, or your title?” 

“It can’t be both?” They pushed back. 

“You could be more than that,” he said. “We could change, if you wanted. What do you want?” 

“I think,” they buzzed. “I want a vacation. Where I can be neither.” 

“Okay,” Gabriel said. “Let’s go on vacation.” 

They left the aquarium with a snap, and the fish behind the glass walls thought nothing of it, content in their self-contained world. 

_._

“Are we traitorzz now, you think?” Beelzebub asked as they sat atop a moving train. It was passing amicably across the Irish countryside, and no one paid any attention to the two. 

Gabriel shifted. “No, we’re technically going with Her Plan.” 

“But we don’t know,” they said. “We don’t know for sure. We’ve just been going off of what the Antichrist thinkzz.” 

“There’s no other plan to go off of,” he said. 

“But it’s just _speculation!_ We’re- we could be actively committing treazzzon by not doing our jobs.” 

“Maybe,” Gabriel said, and he enjoyed the wide open space more than he ever thought he would. He hadn’t been to his office in _decades._ “But it feels right.” 

Beelzebub swore as they laid down on their back, their jacket used to protect their head from the vibrations of the train. “It doezz doesn’t it?” 

“I think he was right anyway,” Gabriel said. “I felt… hopeless. Powerless. I don’t think the humans really need us anyway, not up here.” 

“Yet we still collect them at the end,” Beelzebub said. “Strange that.” 

They sat in silence, the rumble of the train comforting. 

“I think I’m ready now,” he said to them. “I think I’m ready to change.” 

They stared at the clouds passing by. “I think we already have. If I tried to go back, they’d notice. It wouldn’t be pretty.” 

“No it wouldn’t,” Gabriel agreed. “But I somehow feel okay with that.” 

“Gabriel,” they said suddenly. “If we’re going off what we feel I-“ 

They let out a strangled sound. “You’re a reminder of everything I’m zzupposed to be fighting against but I’m glad— I’m glad I’m not alone. And if I’m a traitor it’s not becauzzze of the vacation. It’s becauzzze—“ 

Gabriel tilted his head, waiting, more than a little confused. 

Beelzebub propped themselves up in an elbow. “I’m a traitor becauzze I don’t want to go back. Becauzze I like being here. With you.” 

“I like being here with you too,” he said carefully. “We’ve been colleagues for 65 years, known each other for longer.” 

It was a distinction, and a bad one at that. 

“Yes, but we’re on _vacation,”_ they emphasized. [9] “We’re not our jobzz right now, and I still like being with you. That’s why it’zz bad.” 

“I thought not doing our redundant jobs was our new job?” 

“It is- yes, no, _listen,_ we’re still together when we should be colleaguezz at best and enemiezz at worst.”

“So we’re...not colleagues?” 

“Thick,” Beelzebub choked out. “You thickheaded fucking _angel._ Forget it.” 

“I’m confused about what you’re trying to say.” 

“Drop it,” they buzzed as they flopped back down. They flung an arm over their eyes again, hiding. 

“I’m trying to embrace change,” he said. “I’m ready for it, I want to be ready for it, and I think that means- I think it means that if our nature can change, then the nature of hereditary enemies can change too.” 

He leaned over them, blocking the sun, and tugged gently on the arm covering their eyes. “Is that what you’re trying to say, that the nature of our... relationship can change?” 

They swatted at his hand, frustrated, and looked up at him. “It’s one thing to be self aware of my feelingzzz,” they croaked. “It’s quite another to admit them.” 

“Feelings?” He echoed back. “What kinds?” [10]

Beelzebub growled, gripping the lapels of his jacket, and yanked him down into a bruising kiss. 

“Oh,” Gabriel blinked, suddenly feeling very warm. “Those kinds.” 

_._

“I think,” Gabriel said later, in a darkened room. “I figured out another meaning to the Apple metaphor.” 

“Shut the fuck up,” Beelzebub snarked back, and they kissed him again. And again. 

Their vacation continued after that, but the damage was done. 

They were of the same stock after all, and some things never change. 

_._

“What the _fuck_ are we going to do?” Their voice pitched high. Hives broke out along their jaw, as they stood frozen, eyes locked on a distant corner. 

“I don’t know,” he answered honestly. He also wasn’t moving, back straight, expecting more anger and frustration but only sensing fear. He was also able to recognize that some of that fear was coming from him. 

“But thizz izz, thizz izzz-“ they could barely find the words to express the levels to which they were fucked. 

“We are _fucked.”_ [11]

Gabriel dropped the power stance he’d been unconsciously holding. “Does that mean you don’t want it?” It was a very careful question. 

“I didn’t say that,” Beelzebub replied, a less careful answer. “Just that there will be _consequencezzz.”_

“No one has to know.” 

“How will they _not?”_ Their face was still maddeningly inexpressive. 

Gabriel visually grappled with how much it pained him not to have a plan. “We’ll figure it out as we go.”

“We are _not_ prepared to take care of a child! Neither of us even like children.” Beelzebub faltered then. “I mean, I assumed that you, well--” 

Gabriel set his jaw, trying somehow to convey the depth of his words. “But it’s _ours.”_

Beelzebub stared at him. “Okay,” they said, and they walked forward and into him, in something that was not quite a hug but still just as close. “Okay.”

Gabriel rested his chin on their head. 

“Don’t get me wrong,” Beelzebub said eventually. “I do want it.” 

“It’s unprecedented,” he replied, muffled in their hair. “But not unwelcome.” 

“Unexpected,” they said, also muffled into his chest. “But... nice. It’zz nice.” 

It wasn’t the last argument they had, but the arguments became more along _how should we raise it?_ and _is eating necessary?_ and _how the fuck do we prepare?_

And then it arrived. 

_._

She breathed in, and it was like a beacon of power: it was neither divine nor deviant. It was power like the sun was power: apathetic and all-consuming. 

She breathed out, and the world reset itself, and everything went back to normal, as if that split-second never happened. 

But Heaven and Hell, who were passively monitoring Earth, had noticed. There was no way they hadn’t. 

In their panic and exhaustion, Gabriel and Beelzebub defaulted to Plan Z, and went to the only place in the world where their offices couldn’t touch them.

A cottage in South Downs. 

_._

“You know,” the demon choked out, a tad hysterical, “there’s always Eve.” 

There was a pause as the supernatural entities in the room processed it. 

Beelzebub stared at him, eyes sunken and dull. “One day I’m going to kill you.”

Crowley tilted his head back appraisingly, but whatever he found must have pleased him, because he grinned a wide grin with too many teeth. “That wasn’t a _no.”_

_._

Michael sent a very polite letter, looking for what should be a very reasonable explanation. 

Dagon called, presumably looking for the same. 

Gabriel and Beelzebub sat in the bath across from each other, and stared at the ringing phone on the counter and the glowing letter that had appeared next to it.

Beelzebub reached over and picked up. 

“What?” they drawled. 

A pause. “Yeah, I felt it. No. Whatever….” they stared into the bubbles that Aziraphale had conjured up and wondered exactly how they had gotten themselves into this mess. [12]

“It probably had something to do with that Archangel prick,” they said into the phone, grasping for a suitable lie for what basically was a power surge of energy. 

The archangel in question raised an eyebrow and poked them with his foot. _Bastard._

“Yeah, I’ll find out if he went and did us a favor and dizzzcorporated himself,” Beelzebub said, taking on the bored tones of a boss like a favorite coat. “Well _I don’t know_ if that’zz what happenzz, there’zz never been a dizcorporated bloody Archangel before.” 

Beelzebub closed their eyes in apparent relief. “Yeah yeah, I’ll get my report in soon, can’t mezzz up your precious filing system now can I?” 

They hung up. 

“Discorporation of a powerful entity,” Gabriel said. “That’s clever.” 

“It hazz to be,” Beelzebub said. “Make yours just as convincing.” 

“I think this is the first time I’ve outright lied on a report,” he said. 

“It’zz for her,” Beelzebub reminded him, voice softer than he’s ever heard it.

“Trust me,” he said, equally soft as he conjured a pen and tried not to get the paper wet. “For her, I would do anything.” 

_._

“We have another 11 years until she comes into her power,” Aziraphale said. “If we’re going off the same pattern as before-- and my dear what _are_ you doing?”

Crowley, cradling the newborn to his bare chest, was trying very hard not to fall asleep on the couch. 

“Itss skin contact,” he muttered. “Helps their development or whatever.” 

“You need to focus darling,” Aziraphale implored. “Our former bosses are upstairs in our bathtub, with a newborn that will bring all of Heaven and Hell crashing down upon our doorstep.” 

“Call Adam if you’re worried,” he replied and stroked the soft tuft of hair on the baby’s head. 

“You’re not worried?” 

“Course I am,” he said. “But if they do know about the kid, I don’t think they’ll do anything.” 

Aziraphale gave him a long cool look that strongly implied that Crowley had finally lost it. 

“It’s what they want isn’t it?” Crowley said. “They want a world-ending baby. Fits in with the Great Plan. Only, round two.” 

Aziraphale considered it. “But she’s not the Antichrist she's… well, something else entirely. Her parents will certainly not go unpunished, and she’ll be used as a tool much like Warlock was supposed to be.” 

Crowley frowned at that, nodding. “Call Adam,” he said again, more firmly. “Just in case we need people on our side.” 

Because the universe had an impeccable sense of timing, there was a knock on their door. 

Crowley was immediately upright, tucking himself and the baby in a dark corner, out of sight of the door. Aziraphale, having much more experience with shady characters visiting at odd hours, checked the peephole first before opening the door. 

“Ah,” he said. “Adam. We were just about to call.” 

Adam, who had stopped aging at 26, but was actually closer to 77, stepped through the threshold. [13]

“Hi Uncle Aziraphale,” he said. “I started driving up the moment I felt it.” 

“How’d you know to come here?” Aziraphale asked, closing the door behind him. 

“Figured you had something to do with it, trouble seems to find you more than it should.” 

“Not us this time,” Crowley said defensively, stepping back into the living room. “But I can’t deny that trouble’s first instinct was to come here.” 

Adam froze, staring at the infant pressed to his chest. “No way that's what I think it is. _Again?”_

“No,” Crowley said quickly. “Not your sister, but uh. I guess your cousin if we wanted to loosely define it.” 

“Better not,” Aziraphale cautioned. 

Adam was trying to make a series of quick connections, but all the circuits in his mental switchboard had seemed to have gotten crossed. “Yours?” 

Aziraphale flushed an interesting shade that was reminiscent of rosé. [14]

“Nah,” Crowley said. “Remember the other two?”

Adam looked vaguely impressed. “Well, that was fast. Didn’t you two take a couple thousand years?” 

Crowley glared. [15]

“Not to, err change the subject,” Aziraphale said. “But what exactly did you feel? We didn’t feel anything.” 

“It…” Adam blinked. “It felt like when I finally got control over my powers. It was a shock-wave but in reverse.” 

“Great,” Crowley said. “Then heaven and hell _definitely_ felt something, they could be watching us right now.” 

“They aren’t,” Beelzebub said from the stairs. “Truzzt me.” 

Crowley hadn’t seen them, _really_ seen them, since Armageddidn’t, and the shock from before had worn off. “My lord I think I would be demoted on the spot if I ever tried to trust you.” 

“You’re already the lowest you can be,” they said tonelessly as they crossed the room. “Don’t push it.” 

They held out their arms. “Give.” 

Crowley squinted, and slowly held the child out, but when Beelzebub was half-holding her he didn’t let go. 

“Er, that’s not how you hold a baby.” He said, wondering if he was going to be discorporated on the spot. 

They stared at each other, stubborn, but Beelzebub relented first, and Crowley tried to guide without too much touching because this whole situation was _weird._ “You have to support her head and neck.” He muttered.

“I know,” they muttered back. “It’zz just-- different when it’zz the real thing.”

It was a strangely touching scene as the two aggressively did not make eye contact, and Aziraphale was vaguely uncomfortable just watching it, so he dragged Adam across the kitchen to their wine rack as Gabriel came down the stairs. 

“We read the reports of you taking care of the American Ambassador's son.” The archangel said. 

“His name was Warlock,” Crowley replied, somewhat testily. 

Gabriel ignored the tone. There were a multitude of reasons that this had been their last resort, but there were benefits that came with it regardless. “Can you lend a hand?” He paused and then admitted. “I think you’re the only one that’s qualified.” 

“I’m certainly not,” Adam chimed in. “Not until they’re like two at least, then I'mma much better uncle.” 

He was juggling three bottles of wine, and Aziraphale was carrying three more.

“Why are _you_ here anyway?” Beelzebub asked bluntly.

“Kind of figured the next End Times was an Antichrist level emergency,” he said, setting bottles down on the coffee table. 

“I know you don’t _consume_ things,” Aziraphale said to their former superiors. “But if the end of the world is going to come we’re going to do exactly what we did before: drink and plan.” 

“If it happens more than once, can it be considered a tradition?” Crowley asked as Adam wrestled open a bottle that had somehow turned into a citrus-sweet sangria, and watched as Aziraphale passive-aggressively changed it back into a 2009 Bordeaux. 

“It better not become a tradition,” Adam replied, as he blinked once and went back to drinking Sangria straight out of the bottle. “But if we play this right it might not happen again at all.” 

Gabriel looked like he was expecting God to strike him down at any moment. Under the circumstances, it wasn’t unreasonable. “She’d be like you.” 

“Not a bad thing to be,” Adam said. “Rather than a pawn. She’d have a life.” 

“A life,” Beelzebub said. They had been calmly observing, calculating. “Is that what you wanted all along?” 

It was addressed to no one in particular, and no one quite knew how to answer it. 

Crowley stood up. “Right.” He said. “I don’t know how much you’ve prepared for this but you’re going to get a crash course in infant care anyway.” 

“Now?” Gabriel said faintly. 

“We don’t need to sleep,” Crowley said as he snagged a wine bottle. “But trust me when I say you won’t be getting any anyway. Come on-- before I change my mind.” 

He herded them up into the guest room, and Adam and Aziraphale looked at each other, then back at the stairs, and then mutually agreed to drink in silence. 

“I’m more comfortable with the end of the world this time,” Aziraphale said after a while. “Is that bad?” 

“I think it just means you have more faith that things will work out like they did before,” Adam said, curled up in the armchair. 

Aziraphale’s face twisted in something that might’ve been reflection, and might’ve been navel-gazing. “If it did that, then I would be a passive audience, and never take any responsibility.” 

“That’s not true,” Adam rolled his eyes. “Your Faith doesn’t mean inaction because She’s supposed to do everything, it means everything will work out the way it’s supposed to because you followed your heart.” 

“I suppose you’re right--” 

“Learned my circular arguments from the best--” 

“But the heart can point one towards wickedness as well.” 

“Well yeah,” Adam said. “You make mistakes, and bad things happen, but that’s the best part of free will isn’t it? The capacity for change in the face of adversity is always there, under the surface.”

“The best part about the world,” Aziraphale said softly. “Is that I get to look back and see how far we’ve come.” 

“And how far we’ve yet to go,” The Antichrist said. He held out his bottle to toast. “To biting the apple.” 

“To leaving the garden,” the Angel of the Eastern Gate replied wryly as their bottles clinked. 

In the next room, Eve began to cry, and the Serpent of Eden rocked her and whispered soothing words in her ear while her parents looked on, concerned and tired and hopeful. 

Dawn was breaking. 

Calvin Pulsifer-Device, the grandchild of Anathema, was a professional not-descendant and part-time witch, who was dozing in the passenger seat of his boyfriend’s car as they drove up the coast. 

He knew when they were close, and the feeling of love felt like a warm blanket on his mind, and he reached out for his boyfriend’s hand, holding it tenderly as they drove through the area. 

His mother’s book that they had been instructed to deliver, _The Nice and Accurate Prophecies of Agnes Pulcifer-Device,_ was cradled in the crook of his arm as they pulled into the driveway, and metaphorically, it had just begun to tick.

**Author's Note:**

> 1) Bureaucracy: noun. A system of administration marked by officialism, red tape, and proliferation. Characterized by excessively complicated administrative procedure[return to text]
> 
> 2) Unlike the previous employee, Gabriel retained special privileges, and those included larger miracles of teleportation. The same goes for Beelzebub.[return to text]
> 
> 3) But it was private and clean and had fairy lights and most young adults had low standards anyway [return to text]
> 
> 4) It was already two days past expiration anyway, as Brian discovered when he tried to have shreddies that morning and was forced to eat them out the box, but like any decent friend and roommate, he put it back in the fridge and pretended he hadn’t noticed and made it someone else’s problem[return to text]
> 
> 5) The smile didn’t reach his eyes, and made the brightness of it look more like a flickering neon sign than a warm glow.[return to text]
> 
> 6) He gave it a capital A[return to text]
> 
> 7) He tried to imply that he was there and therefore had a hand in it, but Aziraphale kept correcting him enough that Crowley’s image was ruined and he finally admitted that humans had, for the most part, indeed done most of the Big Stuff for him [return to text]
> 
> 8) He would’ve been delighted if they had said yes, he wanted more perspectives. Not that he could actually cite them of course, but in his earlier drafts he had put Crowley has a primary source until Aziraphale found some manuscripts that more or less matched [return to text]
> 
> 9) Not officially, of course. They still turned in reports and kept up appearances, as per their mutual agreement [return to text]
> 
> 10) In Gabriel’s opinion, there were just way too many [return to text]
> 
> 11) The author would like to take the time to make the joke— because neither of them will go there— that that’s how they got in this situation in the first place [return to text]
> 
> 12) They knew, but at times like this it was better to absently reflect than face the consequences of one’s many, many questionable actions [return to text]
> 
> 13) He had firmly made it so that he visibly aged, in order to live out his life with the people closest to him. His friends weren’t fooled for a minute, but it was still comforting for all involved and their families. Now though, he had shed all pretenses: he was tall, young, and striking in all the same ways the Morning-star had been, only in a vintage fortnite t-shirt [return to text]
> 
> 14) A 2014 Château de Selle to be precise [return to text]
> 
> 15) He was very purposely Not Thinking About It [return to text]


End file.
